Trial (to be titled)
by SickMonkey89
Summary: Just a trial chapter so far. But we all know Vaas was once a Rakyat, right? Well, why don't we read about his life as a Rakyat, hah? I give to you the first trial chapter of our pirate king's life as a Rakyat prince. If continued, will contain strong language, drug/alcohol use, sexual stuffs, friendships, romance, deaths, and manipulation. (I need more genre selections)


**Hola everyone it is I. SickMonkey...or just Callie for those who like to be formal. In that case, just call me Cal...sounds weird when people call me by my full name. Anywho...this is why I have not updated Strange Waters...along with being a wife and mother and now caretaker of a kitten who is tormented daily by my husband and child. Like I'm raising two children. Anyways, yes, this is the side-project I've been mulling over in my head for the past month or so. I have been reading up on tribes and Tatau and lots of other fun things. And I bring to you...The Trial. The trial chapter that will either make or break me in these uncharted waters that I have stayed away from my whole life. (writing wise) This is the story of Vaas Montenegro, from birth to his eventual collapse into the arms of Hoyt and his "business". Keep in mind this is just a trial chapter and the story continues only if there is love to be had for this. If no one is interested, then I suppose I will have no one to entertain and therefor no reason to continue on with this. No I am not being bitter, just practical. If you want to see where this goes (there will be drama, humor, romance, and death) then please, drop me a line and/or review. And remember: smiles are contagious :)**

**Now I have put a lot of thought into this story and believe I can give it justice if I can do this right. I just have to keep studying. Study study study; I haven't done that since school. Yeesh. Well...with this all being said...wish me luck on this endeavor. I hope I can please you and I do not fear the facts of creating someone who is insane...because that's not what I'm doing. I'm just taking all the events in Vaas' life, and pushing him over into the breaking point. I am going to rip him apart piece by piece and mold him into the falsely charming, sadistic, sailor-mouthed, short tempered and madly entertaining antagonist we all love today. Again...wish me luck. Being crazy, this shouldn't be too hard.**

**I have also spent time coming up with names for the native characters. I have chosen Lazara Luna as Vaas' mother's name. Reasons for this are: Lazara is my mother-in-law's name and I thought it was really pretty and appealing. Luna is my all time favorite actor's last name. Diego Luna. (Actually it's Diego Luna Alexander but credits wise it is always Diego Luna) Telepon for Vaas' best friend growing up. Reasoning for this: It's a fun little name that I found on Tattoo Hunter. Indonesian I do believe. Hamengku for Vaas' father. According to several sights on google it means Guardian (Indonesian also) And Bathari for Hamengku's mother. It means Goddess (Also Indonesian) According to the game it's all Malay/Indonesian/Samoan and random tribe stuffs thrown in. Anyways...onwards and upwards yeah? **

**Jjboivin liked Hamengku, so I stuck with that ;)**

**XXX**

The Trial Chapter (Vaas' Birth)

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Hamengku narrowed his eyes, dark pools surveying the choppy waters ahead of him, waves thrashing against the shore lines and cliff sides, whittling away at the earth until it was shaped to the ocean's liking. Another boat, no doubt carrying upon it another lost soul come to escape their demons by seeking solace on an uncharted patch of land far from their every day hassle of living among the damned. The foreigners were coming more and more these days, bringing with them their expensive wears, their modern technology, and their guilt and sorrow. Each year they, like the waves upon the rocks, tore away at his island's body, carving out their own paths with their destruction, further corrupting his people and his land. The decades passed and each new face became paler and paler, ever assuring him that his home was dying should he fail to stop his people from becoming memorized by the shiny new objects brought by those outsiders.

He had to admit though, there were some shopkeepers that he could tolerate more than others. The 'others' were keen on selling things he didn't rightly care for. Drugs, guns, sex; he didn't care for this type of solicitation and so encouraged his people, those who had not turned to these wears so easily, to be wary of the foreigners and report to him should they cause a stir on his islands. Over the numerous years his home had been the victim of many an invader. From the ancient Chinese to the World War II Japanese and now to this eclectic group of scavengers. Hundreds of years of these constant invasions had left his home withered and torn. Yes the jungles and rivers remained but they had been cut through with roads and railway tracks on its surface, mazes of mine tunnels underneath, and large structures; warehouses, bunkers, and even an old unfinished hotel littered across each island with the passing years.

Hamengku's eyes, as youthful and bright as they were, were not surveying his home with a cold heart to its advancements. In fact, he could not even remember the boat pulling into shore, its occupants scurrying about on the deck, shocked from the depleted hurricane. They cheered and reveled, embraced and sang out their relief. They had been spared by the storm. The island king's eyes were cast far off beyond the boat, off past the parting gray clouds and waters coming to a calm. Those dark orbs were drowning in unshed tears. His heart sank deeper into his chest and he bowed his head, holding back a shutter.

The spirits were not happy with him. He thought himself a powerful warrior, a righteous leader, just as his own father had been. He went through the trials, the tribulations, taken the path of the warrior, and received the full Tatau, but still they were not happy. He had done everything he knew right. He was a savior. This he knew everyday when he looked upon his wife. He remembered finding her, shielding her from her enemies, protecting her and avenging her. He killed for her, to keep her safe. Had he planned on marrying her? No not at first. She was young at the time, at twelve she was a whole four years younger than him, and he only ever looked upon her like a sister until his mother, their tribe's shaman and queen, persuaded him to take her as his mate. And he did so, without question, and he grew to love her not as he had before.

Lazara. His wife. His queen. A strange name among his people. Her Hispanic heritage though did not deter his mother Bathari from adopting her into their tribe. And Lazara accepted her place without a qualm. She thrived in the teachings of their ways, their language, and accepted their beliefs, though she could not simply abandon her own so freely. This though made little difference as she still earned the markings on her body, the same as all queens wear. It was getting Hamengku to learn _her _language that was almost the straw that broke the camel's back. She demanded that if she were going to be his wife and had to learn his language, than he need learn her's, regardless if they could both speak English. And he grudgingly learned her Spanish, if only to appease that wild spirit who was never ceased in being amazed at the wonders of their island.

Once an outsider like those who invaded still, but now, one of them, a Rakyat, and she was to bear his first son...

He could not hold back another shutter and he let it flow through his shoulders, though he still held back the tears. Why had this happened to him? His mother had promised a healthy son, a strong son, one who would take the path of the warrior and keep the tribe from evils yet to come. But his son, he was not healthy, nor was he strong. He was dead.

The hurricane destroyed everything that wasn't bolted to the ground; therefore its victim of organic and not were swept up in its winds and carried across the island. Hamengku's village was struck in the early dawn, and the winds ripped apart their homes, breaking the bamboo as if it were twigs, ripping off tin roofs like they were paper. The rain flooded everything trapped between the hills and lightning flashed at every second. The only thing loud as the roaring winds was his wife's loud cries of Spanish curses. She was not screaming in agony persay, but she was uncomfortable, and the child swelling her body with its life was destined to come out at any hour.

Hamengku held her hand through each contraction, but his mother's desperate pleas for them to vacate their home halted the delivery of their son. He transported his people to the nearest safety: their sacred temple. Built by his ancestors its walls were thick and strong and could hide the Rakyat with ease inside of its winding corridors and windowless rooms. It was in one of these rooms, lighted by torches and carpeted by pillows and skins, that his son was born. It was also the room in which he died. It was only a short while ago, not even half an hour, that the storm had had its fun, and had started to fade, the thunders quieting down, the lightening ceasing to flash and the rain dwindling to a soft sprinkle. In the light of its absence, the storm took with it the life of which Lazara carried inside of her; his son, his blood.

Another ray of sunlight shown through the gray sky and touched upon the temple's center, gradually expanding its warmth over the grass and dirt and stone, across the courtyard and over the large lone tree at the entrance. It expanded the other way, over the stone bridge he had crossed and the alter he had climbed, and upon his perch he flinched, the warmth of the sun suddenly a horrid poison to his skin.

"Hamengku!"

His shoulder's tensed and a sneer formed at his lips. "What!" he barked back, head quickly snapping to the side, sending a long braid over his shoulder. The man who had called for him shrunk back, shuffling from one foot to the other as he tried to gain back some composure, a twinge of fear setting the hairs on the back of his neck to stand on end at his leader's sudden wrath. "Am I not allowed five minutes of peace to grieve for my son!" His eyes, though narrowed with the abhorrence of being interrupted during such a heavy time, still held the fresh sadness in their depths, and he quickly averted his gaze back to the horizon, hoping and praying that some undersea monster would arise from the bowels of the ocean and swallow down that boat of relieved foreigners.

"That's just it," the other man said urgently, glancing back over the bridge, then back to Hamengku. "Your son..."

Hamengku turned his gaze once again, eyes softening at the mention of his child. A warm wind intertwined with the sunlight and blew the warmth about his body, sending back unbraided parts of hair to blow before his shoulders. His fingers twitched, tattooed shoulders shuttering once again. "What of him?" His voice was low, demanding, yet pleading...

"He lives."

His heart shot up to his throat and sad tired eyes widened in shock. "What..." he could barely speak, the very thought of his first born son...still alive...

"He's alive!" the other man announced, beckoning for his leader to come down from atop the wall and be done with his weeping. "He is breathing and-"

The Rakyat leader left no time for the man to explain, for he lept from his perch and made haste to the chamber of which his wife birthed their still child. His heart pounded rapidly against his chest in the sudden relief that washed over him. Could it be? Did his son truly live? Have the spirits relinquished his soul from their grasp and allow him to breathe once again?

Hamengku couldn't run fast enough, not as he wanted. Down the steps and through the halls his bare feet padded on the stone in rapid gait, carrying him through the familiar confines of his people's sanctuary. At the entrance Bathari stood and bade him with a smile to enter slowly. He still could not manage a smile, not yet, not until he had seen for himself. "I suppose all he needed," she said in a weathered voice, "was his mother's touch." Putting a hand on her son's shoulder, her own skin covered in old faded markings inked into her flesh, she gave him a light push and he half stumbled into the room.

His heart skipped one, two beats and he had suddenly forgotten how to breathe. Hamengku, oh powerful warrior and king, suddenly felt very, very vulnerable. Before him she lay, head supported by an arrangement of pillows, her long curling black hair blanketed about one shoulder, many of the strands coming undone from the tie and falling down the shaven scalp on either side of her head. Her bright brown eyes were tired and riddled with tears, tears that already made their trails down her round cheeks. She was as beautiful though now as she ever was before. Even more so now, for wrapped in her arms, their child. Their first child. Their son.

Hamengku swallowed and tentatively walked the distance between him and his wife...and son. There was a little high pitched whimper from the baby, followed by a whine, and his heart caught in his chest when he saw the tiniest of hands reach out from its wrappings. Lazara met her husband with a fatigued smile and a small chuckle escaped her lips when she caught Hamengku's humbling reaction to their son's communication. Hamengku seated himself beside her, hand reaching out to touch the plump cheeks of the infant boy, who squirmed and gurlged and grasped at his father's finger. Hamengku could not help the small laugh. He was overwhelmed so much already by the sight of his son's miraculous recovery back to life. Yes. He was a miracle.

"He is strong," he observed, pulling the small hand by his finger with more force than he thought necessary. Indeed, the boy was strong. Again miraculously so.

"He is Rakyat. Of course he is strong." Bathari brought herself to Lazara's other side, taking her time to crouch and sit near the Hispanic woman, her bones creaking in the effort, though she seemed not to notice. "And with the proper training, he will be able to lead our people..." she gave a sideways glance to Lazara, who humphed and set her attention to the child in her arms.

"_Mi bebe," _she uttered in her own native tongue, smiling and laying a kiss on the boy's head. "He looks like you," she stated, offering her husband a pleasant smile as she stroked her son's cheeks and hands.

"But he has your hair," Hamengku said, noting the thick head of black curls. The three stayed silent for a time, Hamengku and Lazara only admiring their child, whose eyes were wide and searching, tiny arms flailing about as he adjusted to the big wide world around him. A soft little sneeze from the baby and he startled himself, eyes growing even wider at the suddeness of whatever it was he had done. This awarded humorous chuckles from the adults and Hamengku lay his forhead on his wife's shoulder, kissing the tattoo there and bringing his attention back to the curly haired infant flailing about in his mother's arms. "Elang," he said at length, again allowing the boy to wrap his hand tightly about his finger. "After the falcon."

"No, no, no, no, no, no, no," Lazara said immediately. "Remember? Remember what I told you since the day we met, do you remember what I told you?"

"Oh no," the man grumbled and rubbed at his eyes, once again leaning his head on his wife's shoulders. He caught Bathari snicker and sent the old woman a glare.

"Yes," Lazara continued. "Remember, I specifically told you, that should I ever have a son, I will name him after my grandfather. Vaasco Luna." She said it with great determination, and most definitely would not take no for an answer.

Hamengku sighed and pulled his head back up, meeting his wife's eyes with his own, admiring the green in her eyes that lined around the brown. Indeed he did remember what Lazara had said, and she was right in saying it. She had told him of her upbringing by her grandfather until he had met his maker and she was taken away by a collaboration of cruel dark people. She had told him that he had been a wonderful man, kind and understanding and always eager to teach. Lazara spoke fondly of him often, nearly everyday making reference to a memory of him or something that he would say. It would be honorable to name their first son after such a man. But Hamengku liked Elang better.

"Vaasco Talugmai," he muttered, rolling the name around on his tongue, not quite certain how he felt about it.

"Yes," Lazara said, smiling widely. "We will call him Vaas." And she once again kissed the top of their son's head, the infant once again throwing his arms in the air at the suddenness.

Hamengku managed a small laugh through his nose before sending a pleading gaze his mother's way. The woman simply shrugged and shook her head. "Vaas, Elang, as long as the boy has a name," she said with a chuckle.

"Vaas," Hamengku said, once again testing it on his tongue. He still wasn't sure, but Lazara was always the stubborn type. He sighed when she gave him a rather expectant look. Whether he accpeted the name or not, she would make her opinion known. "I suppose it will do," he said at last.

"It is a good name," Lazara assured him. "And he will hold it proud, just like my grandfather, won't you _mi __peque__ño." _She then nuzzled the boy and leant her head back upon the pillows.

"He will," Bathari said with determinatino. "I know he will. Now, you let him take _Vaas _out. I'm sure the tribe are all eager to see their new prince."

Hamengku and Lazara shared smiles before she offered over the baby. "Careful his head," she told him, being ever cautious when he reached his hand out for him.

"I know," he retorted, rolling his eyes at his wife's complete lack of convidence in his parenting skills.

When the baby was in his hands, he couldn't help the pause after he stood. His heart leapt and beat ten times faster, his shoulders squared and he feared to let his arms relax in the slightest, feared that the smallest of breezes would swoop away his miracle of a son and leave him pitiful and forlorn once again. He walked carefully, bouncing the boy in tiny bouts in his arms, wrestling with his strong little hands once again as the baby fiddled and wriggled in his arms. "You're a wiry little one aren't you?" he said to the child before making his way from the temple's interior.

Lazara watched with caution, losing her son once, she couldn't bare to lose him again. "Do not worry," came the voice of the woman next to her, laying a wrinkled hand upon her bare shoulder. "He will grow stronger. And in time, he will become a mighty warrior."

Lazara once again humphed at the old woman's words. "You seem to think he will lead the tribe from evil. What evil have we here? I know, small representations, at best that is. But..." she shook her head, her eyes begging to be shut and allow her rest. "What possible _evil _could you be thinking of? Is there even any?"

"You of all people should know of the evil that dwells beyond our home," Bathari said, giving the woman a knowing gaze. Lazara was always wary of Bathari, and though she had no reason to mistrust her, she couldn't help but feel a little skeptical of the old woman's visions she was having lately. Seven years ago Lazara would have laughed at such a notion as 'visions'. But the shamans here...they tended to see things much clearer than she could ever hope to, and their 'visions' had never been wrong before.

"You think it could come here?" The Hispanic woman gave a concerned look, biting her lip at the prospect of being thrown once again into the throes of modern crimes and illegal businesses. "Something actually 'evil' that is?"

Bathari nodded knowingly. "We may not live in old times, but there is still that presense, out there..." she trailed off, offering a the tyring woman below her a smile.

Lazara decided to change the conversation to more present matters. She didn't want to dwell on the old. "Do you think Hamengku will come to like the name Vaas?" she asked, glancing to the curtain her husband had left behind.

"Well, even if he doesn't, you can always let him name the next one," she said chuckling and rising slowly to her feet.

Lazara's eyes widened and her mouth fell agape. "Another one! No, no, no, no, no, no, I don't think I could go through that again. And the storm just made it worse. No I think I'm good with one."

"Wouldn't you want more than one child though? They are a blessing. I had three myself..."

"Yes well, it's a little early for me to even think about other children. This boy was stubborn enough as it was. And..." she wrapped her arms about herself, a small shudder rising over her shoulders. "After what happened to Vaas..."

"You don't need to worry about that anymore," Bathari reassured her. "He is fine. He is alive. And he will continue to be so long as he doesn't get himself killed like a couple of kids I know almost did." The look upon her face told all and Lazara couldn't help the slight smirk at the memory of her and Hamengku getting themselves into trouble...or rather, her getting him into trouble. Bathari made her way to exit the chamber, pulling lightly on the curtain, and turned back to Lazara. "You rest now. If that child is as rambuctious as you are now, then you'll need it."

"Thank you. I'll keep that in mind." Bathari nodded and made to leave once again before being stopped by Lazara's voice. "Bathari," she said, looking more towards the wall than the old woman. "Just don't get your hopes up about anymore grandchildren." She said it with a slight wince. She knew Bathari wanted more grandchildren, and would be very adament on the matter, but Lazara wasn't sure she could handle another eight hours of labor, or worse yet, another child dead in her arms. She was suprised still that Vaas had managed to recover. He hadn't been breathing, and when Bathari and the other women took him to try to will him back to life, all she could do was scream for him. Scream his name while Hamengku did his best to hold her back in her fragile state. It wasn't until Lazara started to bounce the baby in her arms, pat his back and try to will him to eat, did he give out those coughs of life, fluid spilling from his tiny mouth and nose until he was clear of it all. The whole tribe would be amazed. There would be a celebration of the highest kind with a big boar to cook in the ground and they would dance and sing and give offerings to not only the child but the spirits who had allowed him to live.

Bathari offered only a warm smile with a tilt of her head. "I don't need to," she said, and disappeared behind the curtain. Lazara desperately wanted to ask her what she meant but her work and stress had tired her body immensely and it ached for sleep. Her eyes fluttered closed and soon she was overtaken by the overwhelming exhaustion and she embraced the sleep with open arms.

Outside in the courtyard there was indeed a celebration. Not a party per say—at least not yet—but a grouping of the men and women and children congratulating their leader's son's birth. The women marveled and ogled over the small thing and the men hooted and clapped their hands upon Hamengku's shoulders and back, ruffling his hair and demanding to know when the next one was going to be. He was not about to make any promises.

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**Wanna see a Rakyat style Vaas? Check out Kirschenwasser** ** on Deviant art. I kinda bugged her for a while ;)**

**Anyways...**

**There you have it. Trial chapter for a Vaas centric fic...centered primarily on his life in the tribe. Like I said above, from birth to crash. Boom Bam Pow. Anyways, please, let me know what you think of this. If you wish to read about him from long ago, please leave a review. If you wish to not know his origins (fan made obviously but with plenty of facts still in there) then please don't let me know. **

**This is the first non modern fic I have ever written as well. As in, I have to study up on age old tribes that are still around today and how they still live about their lives and blah blahs while some allow technology to be introduced and some frown massively upon it, along with the whole introducing Christianity and whatever other religions to a people who once worshiped other gods and/or spirits. Meh, a lot of thought is going into this right now. I have lots of happenings, especially in Vaas' later teen years, involving the arrival of a girl, pirates, and other goodies. **

**Another quick side note, I will also be working on ANOTHER fic (a oneshot actually) for Kirschenwasser regarding her creation, Vas, Vaas' kid. Yes I will be doing a single father Vaas waking up in the middle of the night to care for an infant. Awesome! Ah memories...how I hated waking up in the middle of the night with an infant. Now I do it with a kitten...cuz two in the morning is when he likes to crawl into bed with us and start scratching our faces cuz he thinks its fun. Anyways...yeah. I shall begin work tomorrow on more Strange Waters goodness, along with this Vaas/Vas thinger. Wish me lucks :)**


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